


A quickie's never killed anyone

by scottmczall



Series: Not quite inside [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Nipple Play, just a little though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-30 01:14:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3917698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scottmczall/pseuds/scottmczall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She should be angry at him, really—because this is beyond inappropriate—but his hands are under her dress, and the tip of his fingers are diving down her back, into her underwear, and she’s utterly <i>lost</i>. </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Where Lydia and Stiles go to Liam's prom and fuck inside the bathroom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A quickie's never killed anyone

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back because I am smut trash apparently, with absolutely no self control.  
> This is the first part of a new series of Lydia and Stiles' semi public sexual escapades, just 'cause.  
> Enjoy!

“Stiles, they’re gonna—“ Lydia’s interrupted by Stiles’ lips upon hers, and gasps into his mouth. 

She should be angry at him, really—because this is beyond inappropriate—but his hands are under her dress, and the tip of his fingers are diving down her back, into her  underwear, and she’s utterly _lost_. 

It’s Liam’s graduation party and the crowd is raging outside. She can hear the thrumming of the electronic music filling gym right through the bathroom's door, where Stiles had pushed her against just a few minutes ago, a hand going up her thigh with his head buried in the crook of her neck and this tone of desperation that was setting her alight.

Lydia can’t even tell what got him started at this point, but as he shapes his hands around he globes of her ass she wonders if it actually matters.

Stiles pulls her up by the cheeks, pulling them apart and his digits brush against her cunt making Lydia intake a breath, preparing herself for whatever he’s got. “They’re not.” Stiles answers breathily, resting his forehead against hers, and she has to scramble through her thoughts to pull back what he’s even answering to anymore. 

She forces her drooping eyes open, pulling away, “Supernatural hearing, Sti— _fuck_! What are you doing?” The curse slips mindlessly from her lips when Stiles sucks precariously on the hollow of her collarbones, one hand emerging and pulling down at her top and setting one of her breasts free. 

He flicks her a quick look, eyes darkening with lust, “M'getting you comfy,” He replies innocently and flicks her hardening nipple with his finger, trapping it with another soon enough. 

Lydia’s used to having her tits underlined with careful bruises and living with rough lacy fabric tugging at her swollen nipples, and she’d demand Stiles give up his little obsession if she didn't like it as much as he does. It works like slowly healing memories—as does her work right inside his thighs and, when he lets her, his neck.

“The music’s too loud for them to hear us, Lyds, c'mon” Stiles insists—like she would’ve let him take her to a semipublic bathroom to ravage her on the sink if she wasn’t already pretty much convinced—and sighs against her chest, licking her nipple teasingly, “Besides, if they were hearing wouldn’t we be bound by law to give them a show?” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, and Lydia laughs at that. It’s this rough, raw sound of delight and it translates just how much she can’t—and doesn’t want to—stop herself from enjoying Stiles’ ideas. 

She pulls at his hair, forcing him to look at her as her laughter ceases, and leans down, sucking on his bottom lip before fluttering her lashes at him, “Do a thorough job, then.” 

Stiles almost whimpers when she gives him her enthusiastic encouragement and he latches on to her nipple without another word. His hands prop around her waist, thumbs sinking against her skin as he pulls her closer, exhaling loudly when her nails graze against the back of his neck. She doesn’t think she’ll get over the way Stiles’ almost perfectly learned how much she can take when his teeth sink around her nub and he pulls only to swirl his tongue around it and suck for all he’s worth. He does it once and again, and when she splays both her hands on the cold marble under her, Stiles takes a grip on her hair, entangling it around his fist and pulls her head back in a surprisingly gracious move.

Stiles keeps doing amazing things with his mouth, leaving her hot all over, wet and arching for more. He moves to her other breast, which he releases with as much care as he does the other, dragging her top down abruptly, catching her by surprise. But that's when he stops. 

“Can you get up for me?” He asks, mouth free and both hands slipping to the outside of her thighs, instead of anywhere else—noticeably. Lydia snaps her head back up, frustration feeling her way too quickly, and she can’t stop the confused glare from leaking through her features. Stiles sighs, “I'm just…” He chews the inside of his cheek, giving her a thorough look, "Okay, are you gonna make fun of me?” 

Lydia squints, pondering not only about the question, but his entire behavior, “Possibly.” She levels, “Well, _probably_.” and corrects, sending him a smirk that makes him huff in light annoyance.

“Yeah, yeah, well…” He waves her off. “The reason why I brought you here in the first place was because of—and I say this very respectfully—your ass.” He swallows, massaging her knees awkwardly, “I mean, all of you is just,” Stiles raises his hands and signals vaguely at her entire vicinity, “But this dress—and also, did you know that the wind does things? And some of those things are just _naughty_ , because I saw your butt ch—“ 

Lydia quiets him with a kiss, securing herself by his shoulders when she slips down until her feet touch the ground again. She pecks him on the corner of his mouth and then his cheek, nuzzling against his skin with her nose, “Stiles, it’s fine.”  She assures him, caressing his arm until she takes it by the wrist, guiding Stiles’ hand to her ass and squeezing above it. Lydia backs away only enough to look at him, “Now, what is it you wanted to do?”

Stiles is in awe, mouth gone slack and tongue almost slipping off of his mouth. Lydia frowns, considering shaking him back to reality, but then his other hand’s on her and they’re both squeezing and tugging and—“Kinda wanna do everything here, Lyds,” He breathes it out shakily, hooking his thumbs on the sides of her panties and slowly pulling them down.

“They're gonna start looking for us soon,” She whispers—though it’s not like she _cares—_ eyes closing as she allows herself to fall back into the feeling of Stiles’ touch. 

Lydia gasps when Stiles turns her, pressing his chest flush against her back and throwing her hair all to one side. He nibbles on her neck, and it’s only when he locks his eyes on hers through the mirror while doing it, that she remembers it’s even there. If she had to describe herself right now she’d describe herself as sex, with her tousled hair and swollen lips. There are red spots starting on her clavicle, trailing all the way to her tits pulled out of her black dress, and _Stiles_ , who’s looking at her like he isn't even worthy of doing so. 

“Let ‘em,” He says against her ear, kissing her right under it, and Lydia feels the fabric of her dress being rolled up, something wet rubbing against the now bare skin of her ass. “Didn't even touch you here yet.” Stiles comments idly as he cups Lydia’s cunt with his hand and strokes firmly. 

She bites her lip, frowning, and she wants so much to look away from the mirror—but she _can’t_ , because Stiles’ hand is disappearing under her dress and he rubs her pussy with his whole palm, his cock is dragging against her ass and it’s so much that she needs _more_. “A shame,” Lydia rasps in response. 

“That it is.” Stiles taps on the inside of both her thighs and she opens her legs a little wider, giving him the space he needs. This isn’t an usual situation for them, mostly because Stiles is usually the one relishing under commands, but she enjoys this, and so does he—she can tell by the way he groans when he enters her, slipping inside with eyes screwed shut.

Lydia’s head falls forward and Stiles follows her, kissing the back of her neck as he does. He cups both of her breasts his time, taking a grip there and thrusting roughly, getting her to look at him through the mirror again.

“Look.” He whispers and twists her nipples carefully. Her eyes fall upon them and she’s crying out without even realizing, his next thrust coming rougher and faster, “You like seeing me play with you?” Stiles pants out, the corner of his lips tugging up smugly. Lydia can’t help but think she shouldn’t encourage him, but the thought disappears when he leans them even further and _grinds_ on her, slowly, following with another sharp thrust. She moans unashamedly, sucking her bottom lip in between her teeth when she’s done, eyes growing glassy.

Lydia frowns at him in both pleasure and feign annoyance, “Shut up and fuck me,” She bites sourly and breathlessly, hearing Stiles’ half laugh of a response, “ _Harder_.” She completes and he almost chokes, eyes widening at her. _Much better_. 

Stiles eyes dart all over her, from her actual figure to her reflection in the mirror, “You’re— _fuck_ , Lydia, oh my god,” He babbles absently, slipping his grip down to her waist and slamming into her this time around. Lydia’s body jolts and her mouth hangs open in surprise, face flushing even harder, boiling hot, with the slapping sounds of skin with skin filling her ears. 

He doesn’t slow his pace down, her entire body shaking with the force behind his thrusts, skin prickling with heat and her head swimming in pleasure. She barely feels the sting of Stiles’ slap, but it’s there, and it has her nails trying to dig into marble. He’s done that before, but it has never been this fitting, or as loud as it was just then, “Stiles,” Lydia chokes out, only hoping he’ll understand. 

And he does, because his hand’s coming down again _once_ , all too prone to obeying even her silent commands, “Like this? Huh?” _Twice_ —and he’s caressing her after, thrusts growing jabby by and erratic, “Touch yourself.” Then a third time, Lydia’s hand scrambling to soothe her own throbbing clit. “Lydia—“ He warns briefly—and she knows already—as he pulls out of her entirely, covering her ass with come as his forehead sinks on her back with a grunt. 

“Stiles, my dress!” She warns, not even able to fathom the idea of having Stiles’ come, of all things, putting her dress’ integrity in jeopardy.

“Yeah, yeah,” He pants against her back, kissing her absently until he drops to his knees. 

Lydia startles at his loss on the mirror, his entire image vanishing at once and she turns back completely, looking down at him “What are you doing?” She asks, throwing her hair back. 

“What does it look like I’m doing?” He moves forward without looking up and licks at her cunt without warning. Lydia holds on to the edge of the sink, feeling her knees weaken pathetically under Stiles’ ministrations. “You could ride my face like this,” Stiles muses, sinking even further into her, tongue circling her hole. 

“Impractical.” She mutters courtly, afraid her voice might break. The noise comes only from outside now and it feels a little silent when Stiles isn’t groaning next to her ear. 

“Gotta do all the work.” He mumbles amusedly and licks her folds one more time before flat out sucking on her clit. This time her head falls back, eyes closing on instinct and Stiles is ruthless, euphoric even, working her restlessly. When she comes Stiles holds her by the back of the knees just to be sure, licking her clean as much as he can while she rides her aftershocks, body trembling helplessly over him. 

Lydia opens her eyes slowly afterwards, running a thumb over her lips, glad she didn’t go for red lipstick or they’d have to go out there with faces looking like murder scenes, “We should clean up and go back.” She decides, helping her boyfriend up, “We probably smell disgusting.” She sighs. 

Stiles smiles faintly and licks his lips before kissing her temple, “Gotta own it, though.” 

*

“You two are gross.” It’s Isaac who says it first, turning his head the other way. 

Scott sighs tiredly, “Seriously? It’s Liam’s prom, you guys.” 

“Yes! A time for celebration. We were celebrating!” Stiles justifies defensively. 

Kira sucks in a breath, seeming to get the hustle, “Oh, god. Oh. This is—this is a _school_.” She whispers like the affirmation is unholy. 

“Which we don’t go to anymore.” Lydia points out. “Can we just get past this? Stiles and I had sex, move on.” 

“Gross.” Isaac insists one last time before they drop it. 

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback, children /feedback/. No, but seriously, _feedback_ , am I right?  
> Yes, go.


End file.
